


Got a Hold on Me

by Solarcat



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Don't Judge Me, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Phoenix Coyotes, Werewolves, this really has no actual plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 06:17:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1142484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solarcat/pseuds/Solarcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, snuggles are necessary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Got a Hold on Me

**Author's Note:**

> Oh god don't look at me. *hides* I blame this on the Coyotes for being dumb boys that I love far too much, and also on the fact that we apparently get better at hockey during full moons. Also if Boeds and OEL don't want me writing adorable werewolf fluff about them, then they should stop being like that together, seriously, stoppit. (Never stop. <3 )
> 
> I made this all up, none of it is true. Title is from _Howlin' for You_ by the Black Keys, which is also the Yotes' goal song. (You may all marvel at my creativity now. _I know._ )

Oliver doesn’t follow him home. Instead, he shows up on Mikkel’s doorstep a few hours after they parted ways at the arena, wearing sweatpants instead of his gameday suit. Mikkel could claim to be surprised, but the extra bottle of Gatorade and extra sandwich sitting on his kitchen counter would give him away, so he doesn’t bother.

Of course, Oliver still asks, “Can I stay tonight?” with that angelic expression, ducking his head and looking up through his lashes like there’s any chance of Mikkel turning him away.

“Come here,” he rolls his eyes and tugs Oliver across the doorstep by the front of his hoodie so he can close the door against the slight chill of the desert night. He doesn’t put up any resistance at all, almost dead weight as he tucks his face into Mikkel’s neck and breathes in, and Mikkel steadies him with an arm around Oliver’s slim waist until he’s done.

“Go eat,” he instructs after a moment, steering Oliver toward the kitchen and sending him off with a swat across the ass, which gets him a cheeky grin over Oliver’s retreating shoulder. Mikkel checks that the door is locked, the alarm system armed for the night, and the curtains over the enormous living room windows shut firmly, just in case. By the time he makes it to the kitchen, the extra sandwich is gone, the Gatorade half-empty, and Oliver is standing in the middle of the room in his skin, his sweats haphazardly thrown over one of the bar stools and his boxer-briefs _on the counter_ , which is disgusting and Mikkel knows he shouldn’t let Oliver get away with it, but he’d taken a hard hit in the game and Mikkel is inclined to be forgiving. Oliver had finished the game, of course, because they’re _hockey players_ , but once they got back to the room he hadn’t been able to hide the way his ribs were coming up all kinds of pretty colors.

Mikkel takes the time to actually fold his own clothes, though, pointedly setting them on another of the bar stools in an orderly pile, and Oliver huffs, like _yes, yes, fine_ , all youthful impatience. Sometimes he makes Mikkel feel old, which is just unfair — he shouldn’t have to feel old at twenty-four. He doesn’t waste time, though, pressing up against Oliver’s side a moment later, nosing at Oliver’s ribs as if he can see anything at all through the layer of dark fur that he couldn’t see when Oliver was human-shaped in the locker room showers. Oliver whimpers a little when he presses too hard against a sore spot, and Mikkel licks his face in apology until Oliver gives him a mollified little nudge.

Oliver’s the one to head out of the kitchen, which is a good plan because Mikkel’s couch is infinitely more comfortable, and plenty big enough for the two of them to curl up together, even with Mikkel’s muscular bulk and Oliver’s long, rangy limbs sprawled everywhere. Tonight, he lets Oliver arrange them, just out of deference to his bruises, and so Mikkel ends up against the back of the cushions while Oliver wiggles himself into the remaining space, nudging his way under Mikkel’s foreleg so they’re pressed together, his flank against Mikkel’s pale blond belly and his nose tucked under Mikkel’s jaw. He is utterly ridiculous, and Mikkel makes a mental note to tell him so, at some point. If he remembers. He probably won’t, but it doesn’t matter anyway, because ridiculous or not, Mikkel’s not sure how he would handle it, if Oliver ever _stopped_ showing up on his doorstep when he needed to be cuddled like this.

They wake up human and still pressed together in the morning. They’re both hard — Mikkel is pressed into Oliver’s stomach, and Oliver’s cock rubs against Mikkel’s thigh as they shift and stretch into wakefulness. It’s a pleasant kind of arousal, soft and unhurried and not aimed in any particular direction. It’s good to bask in, for a while, until Oliver tilts his chin up to look Mikkel square in the eyes.

“I can make eggs?” Oliver says after a moment, and even though he’s oddly disappointed, Mikkel nods and says, “Sounds good,” because Oliver is surprisingly adept at breakfast foods.

“Good,” Oliver says, his lips curving up at the corners, and he braces a hand against Mikkel’s bare hip to shift himself forward so he can press that impish smile against Mikkel’s mouth. It’s soft, and brief — as kisses go — but utterly sweet, and Mikkel smiles into it.

When Oliver pulls away he pulls away completely, levering himself off the sofa and padding away towards the kitchen where he will, presumably, put his sweatpants back on before attempting to cook anything, even though it’s a shame to cover him up. To be fair, Mikkel would probably keep Oliver naked all the time, if he could get away with it, but he’s willing to admit there are several logistical problems with that plan.

He settles for calling out, “You are cleaning the counter before we eat!” because _really_ , and smiles when Oliver laughs.


End file.
